Hour of the Beak
by Plymouthdodgewrecks
Summary: Something's wrong with the Medic. More than usual. Not sleeping, not eating, spending days locked away in his operating theatre. Why? RED's going to find out. Note: In case you couldn't tell (you probably could), I'm a terrible writer, so any criticism, be it constructive or just straight up flaming, is welcome.
1. Chapter 1

"Doktor, what is wrong? Heavy sees you are different lately."

Heavy was correct. The Medic's skin had been deathly white, his hairline receding, eyes constantly bloodshot. He wasn't sleeping, either. Every night, the other eight mercs heard him, frantically pacing the corridors, his heavy breathing echoing through the building.

"Heavy, I am...I am fine, I just need..." He trailed off, putting his hands on top of his head. "I just need zhis time to be alone for a while, okay?"

Heavy frowned, but complied regardless. "Okay, doktor. I know that job is hard. Doktor is always busy. Team always pressing E button to call you to them. I understand." Hanging his head, Heavy lumbered out of the room. The second he shut the door, he heard metal clanging and nervous muttering.

Heavy knew it would be best not to go back into the room right now, and marched into the common room, where he found the rest of his team.

"Team, I think doktor is going insane."

The Demoman was the first to let out a raucous laugh. "Medic, GOIN' insane, mate? 'ave ya even met the bloody loon!?"

Heavy retained his stony demeanor. "No, he is...worse. He is not right. Something is wrong with doktor."

The emotionless eyes of a gas mask looked to Heavy. "Mrh hrdhm mph mnrhm?" The mask cocked slightly to the right, disturbingly similar to a curious animal. "Mrphrnr, mrnr mph, mh?"

Heavy flinched a those eyes met him. Heavy had always felt that the world would be a better place had Pyro never existed. "Uh...no. Not like that."

The Pyro stood, causing Heavy to step back a few paces. It cocked its head again, a muffled laugh coming through the mask's filter. "Mrh hrdrhr, mph mph."

Heavy collected himself, looking around at everyone save the Pyro. "Team, _something. is. wrong. _You can stay here, and hide from problem, like tiny baby men that you are, but Heavy is not waiting." He felt the gas mask's gaze pierce him once more.

"Y'all wanna know what I think?" When the Engineer spoke, it didn't matter how soft-spoken and quiet the man was; everyone listened. "I think we should stay outta the doc's business. He's got the most important job on the field and we don' wanna make anything harder for the poor man than we already have. I think we oughta let 'im deal with...whatever this is, an' I'm sure it'll blow over in a week."

Before anyone could reply, a loud crash rang out from the Medic's operating theatre, his unmistakable crazed laughter booming throughout the otherwise silent RED base. For several seconds, the eight mercs looked at each other, mouths agape, before the Scout regained his composure and hopped off his couch.

"Maybe we should check dis out, guys." Everyone readied their weapons as Scout walked down the hall to the operating theatre, a horrid stench coming from within. "I reeeeally don' like da look a' dis..."

As slowly as he could, Scout pushed the door open, the rest of the team right behind him. Blood was common in the Medic's operating room, yes, but this was something else. A massive pool in the very center of the room, more blood leading all the way out to the window as though someone had been dragged out. Nearly everything was tipped over and broken, water was covering at least an inch of the floor, and both the Medigun and its owner were gone.

"DOKTOR, NO!" 


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the revies, wasn't expecting them this fast. I'll try to improve on all the things you've mentioned. Without further ado, here's a chapter even worse than the last that I'm too tired to bother proofreading as of now.**

The Heavy fell to his knees as soon as he reached the puddle of blood. The water splashed violently as his hulking figure hit the ground. This was more blood than the Russian had seen in his lifetime, and that was saying something. Far more blood, in fact, than a single ordinary human such as the Medic could hold.

"Oi, come see this. Think I found a rat back 'ere or somethin'."

The rest of the team crowded around Sniper and eyed a small, rotting hole carved into a wooden crate. A small, white head popped out of the hole, eyes blinking rapidly as it eyed the eight men before it.

"Oh, god, it's 'is bloody bird," Sniper scoffed as he grimaced at the sight of Archimedes. "Was 'opin' whatever caused all this woulda taken the pissin' thing with it."

Archimedes squeezed through the small hole in the crate and flew up to the man he was most familiar with, the Heavy, and landed delicately on his shoulder. The bird eyed the large man curiously, pecking his nose when he turned to look at the dove.

"Hello, leetle bird. Have you seen the doktor?"

As the team expected, neither a "yes" nor a "no" escaped from his pale yellow beak. However, he did give an answer as best he could; Fluttering off the Heavy's shoulder, he flew to yet another wooden crate on the other side of the room. It was kept shut by an enormous lock and several chains, a shining gold key next to it.

"Oh, hey, I seen dis before," Scout explained. "The doc got one a' dem supply crate. Series #6 or somethin'."

The Soldier, having remained uncharacteristically quiet for most of this, finally spoke up. "You can stand around all you like, but I am opening this crate!"

All the cries of "But it's the Medic's crate!" were met with a resounding "FINDERS KEEPERS, MAGGOTS" before the Soldier grabbed the key. Carefully as he could, he slowly brought the key up to the lock, spent several seconds lining it up perfectly with said lock, and then jamming it in with all his might with a war cry.

As the crate fell, Soldier heard what seemed to be muffled laughter, followed by a very quiet "No!".

"You can 'no' all you want, I am keeping the contents of this damned crate!"

The rest of the team scratched their heads and shrugged, none of them having said anything.

"My god," Soldier muttered. "Gentlemen...I HAVE FOUND A SMALL SHARD OF THE BIRD COLOSSUS' SKULL."

The Spy stepped forward and eyed the item in the box, lighting a cigarette as he turned back to the Soldier. "Zhis is a Blighted Beak, imbecile. It is one of zhose stupid 'miscallaneous' items we get zent every so often. Zhey don't even compare to 'ats, if you ask me."

The Soldier quickly shoved the Spy out of the way, slamming the Frenchman into the ground. "This is mine. I am taking it. I have captured this item and claimed it as my own!"

The Demoman put a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him with a worried eye. "Mate, I'm sorry. Only Medic can wear this. They don' allow ye ta wear it as a Soldier." He quickly covered his ears, preparing for exactly what came.

"THIS IS MINE! I AM WEARING IT! I DO NOT CARE WHAT THE LAWS OF VALVE STATE! I REJECT THEIR REALITY AND SUBSTITUE MY OWN!"

After several minutes of screaming and collective sighs as he used up all the oxygen in his lungs and fell unconscious, the Engineer picked up the beak and inspected it. "This is a darn creepy lil' thing, fellas. Not sure I like it, myself."

A large rubber glove gripped the mask and politely took it out of Engineer's hands. "Mphr hrdrh mhrdr."

The Engineer froze up, mouth opening slightly. Ever the translator for a team who never understood the Pyro's words (they often simply guessed as to what he said), he cautiously explained exactly what the firebug was saying.

The beak was far from a simple cosmetic item; it contained a spirit of sorts. One that was far from friendly. 


End file.
